This Isn't Possible
by TheUnknownUser
Summary: Modernday Vincent creates a machine that has the ability to transport movie characters into the real world. Warning: Minor Offensive Language
1. The Unexplained Chapter

**Chapter One - The Unexplained Chapter**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**. _

* * *

Vincent Roberts sat down at his desk where his laptop awaited him. Swivelling in his leather chair, he opened the address bar and clicked the popular _ebay_ website. He logged in and entered in his password. 'Twobeefpattiesonaburgerbun' a password he believed would stump the world. 

"Damn, no sales today," he sighed. He scrolled through the list of items he had put up for sale.

"Why does none of this crap appeal to the public?"

Funnily enough, the only item of interest according to the number of hits, was his old textbook on alternative science. It was his trusty colleague he spent most of his spare time with while he was studying back in the day. One of the only items he vowed never to sell.

Unfortunately, Vincent wasn't in the best predicament. He had just turned 30, drowning in financial debt, unable to hold down a job for more than a month, and relied on _ebay_ for his means of income - which wasn't doing much for him these days.

Deep in thought, Vincent picked up his coffee cup and relocated to the newly renovated living room. The smell of fresh paint was still in the air from the previous night he spent working on the doors. After all, his brother insisted that white décor gives a house that clean, classy, modern look.

He threw himself into the comfy paisley sofa and rummaged amongst the cushions for the remote. He pressed the power button.

"There better be something good on TV," he muttered.

_"--abs that make you look good! Tone those abs and thighs for only four easy payments of--"_

"Yeah, right," he rolled his eyes and switched the channel.

_"--something to tell you." "Oh no, what is it?" "Hope, it's Beau. He's been in a terrible accident. He--"_

Vincent wasn't too fond of daytime soap operas either. He glanced up at the large clock hanging above the stereo. Its hands were ticking by ever so slowly. Only two more lengthy hours to wait for lunch.

Annoyed with the lack of good programmes on television, Vincent made his way into the basement. He decided to retrieve his old textbook and take a look through for old-time's sake. It was his dream to create something amazing; something that no one had ever done before. And with the help of scientific knowledge, he thought he could achieve it.

"Vince, that dream died a long time ago, buddy," he said to himself.

He picked up the heavy book and opened it up to a random page. A few words in particular caught his attention: _Warning: Do Not Attempt This Experiment_. Vincent's expression changed from excitedly curious to a look of shock confusion.

"What the hell? This chapter wasn't here before…" He turned the page over and read further.

"This has gotta be kidding me…"

He couldn't believe what he was reading. Perhaps he was dreaming, or maybe this is some sort of Halloween prank. There was no way he could figure out a logical explanation.

Suddenly the phone rang, echoing throughout the house.

Vincent quickly gathered up the book in his arms, rushed into the kitchen, and picked up the receiver just in the nick of time.

"Hello, Vincent Roberts here," he greeted as he held the phone close to his ear.

There was silence down the other end.

"Uh, hello? Is anyone there?" he asked, getting a tad impatient.

Vincent looked at the Caller ID display to see if he recognised the number. '_Invalid_ _Number_' lit up the tiny screen. He'd never seen it do that before. They probably have the wrong number, he thought to himself.

"Da expeerment, Veencent," a woman's heavily accented voice replied. He could hardly understand her even though she slowly pronounced her words.

"Who is this?"

Then it was over. The line was dead.

* * *

Vincent spent the most of his afternoon mulling over the anonymous phone call. Who could it possibly be? How did they know about this random experiment that doesn't even exist? Why him? 

He sat at the dining table, the textbook open in front of him. Frowning, he read over the words again.

"This isn't even possible," he said aloud.

Vincent decided to get a grip on reality by calling his older brother by two years, Patrick; also known as 'Patricia' on certain days of the week. Patrick was the kinky type with an unconventional lifestyle but Vincent could always count on him for advice. Or not. Reaching for the cordless phone, he dialed in the number hastily.

"Welcome to Patricia's sexy hotline," said the put-on feminine voice down the other end.

"You know, you should really quit," Vincent replied.

"Hey, come on, it's just a bit of paid, harmless fun. Great entertainment, right?" Patrick retorted, his usual voice back.

"Yeah. Sure. It's just… I dunno… it's odd."

"So what? I don't see how it's any different to that online computer _crapola_ that you do. The customers don't know me - like you; I work effortlessly from home - also like you; and there's no way they could find out that I'm as straight as a line."

"Well, why couldn't you just open a straight hotline?"

Patrick sighed, "What did you call for, Vinnie?"

Vincent thought for a moment.

"Look, what I'm about to tell you may sound a little crazy. Actually… it _is_ crazy. I just want your advice, Pat."

There was a brief pause.

"Sounds juicy. Go on…"

"I'm serious. You know that textbook I had? The one on alternative science? Something really weird happened," Vincent began, "…And before you ask, I'm not on drugs, alcohol or anything else for that--"

"Get to the point already. I have a caller on line 3," Patrick interrupted.

"I think I can transport people from the TV to right here, right now," Vincent blurted out quickly.

A long deafening silence.

"Lay off the grass, Vinnie," Patrick commented.

"No, I'm serious. This chapter just appeared and then there was this woman and--," Vincent started, then added, "I know it sounds nuts, but you gotta believe me!"

"So what you're telling me is… you _think_ you can get me the best Christmas present ever? I'd like a hot chick, sexy, blonde--Hey, rent out a porno!"

"No, I'm serious! I dunno what to do about this," Vincent sighed. It _did_ sound crazy.

"Have you tried it out?"

"Well, no," Vincent glanced at the book still open in front of him.

"Then how do you know it even works? It sounds like a load of pie to me," Patrick informed.

"Yeah, you're right," Vincent agreed, running his free hand through his dark hair.

"My advice: Build your invention and let me know when nothing happens," said Patrick cynically.

"You're always _so_ supportive, Pat," Vincent sarcastically replied.

"Try Patricia's advice line next time, eh?"

After they said their goodbyes, Vincent considered the somewhat useful advice. There's no harm in trying it out. If it's a hoax, it won't work. But if it's not a hoax…


	2. Transport Successful

**Chapter Two - Transport Successful**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**. _

_

* * *

_Two weeks had passed. Vincent spent most of his time in the basement working on his new invention, fine-tuning the last minute details. He was so close to completion and eager to trial out this extraordinary thing, that he hadn't slept in two days. Finally, he tightened the last small screw with his electric drill. The task was now complete.

Vincent inspected it closely. It resembled a portable DVD player with flashing lights that beeped every now and then. He was pleased with the result - but the question still stands. Does it work?

Vincent strolled off into the living room with the 'appliance' in his arms and placed it on the coffee table. After ensuring it was safe, he headed towards the DVD tower lined with dozens of movies. He ran his finger over the titles and felt his hand being forced to a particular movie. He pulled it out of the rack.

"_Pirates of the Caribbean_? Okay, well, this'll be interesting," said Vincent aloud, looking at the cover then turning over to read the back.

The armchair surrounded him as he sank into it, DVD in hand. He leaned over the coffee table and gently inched the machine closer to him. Vincent flicked the power switch and waited patiently for the words '_Insert DVD_' to come across the screen. So far so good, he thought. His programming skills were paying off.

"Now for the moment of truth," he said hopefully as he hesitantly inserted the DVD.

The DVD was swallowed by the machine; beeping, flashing, and before he knew it, _Pirates of the Caribbean_ began playing. Vincent sighed.

"I've created a DVD player? Oh well, I may as well watch this. Elizabeth Swann is a bit of alright," he muttered, slightly disappointed.

The curtains were drawn and the lights were dim. The machine created magnificent shadows against the ceiling, swirling with colour as if it were a firework display. Green, yellow and blue flashes lined the walls. Vincent stared about the room in awe, sinking further into the armchair, and clutched nervously at the armrest.

All of a sudden the machine came to a stop.

Vincent blinked with disbelief as the words came across the screen, '_Transport_ _Successful_'. He looked around but didn't see any evidence of this so-called success.

"I knew it was too good to be true," was his conclusion.

Exhausted, Vincent made his way into the kitchen. As soon as he entered, he noticed the kitchen was colder than the rest of the house due to the heating malfunctioning recently. He had been planning on fixing that for a week - yet he had other things to worry about. 

Vincent considered filling Patrick in on the latest lack of good news even though his pride didn't really want to. He sat at the dining table turning the cordless phone over in his hands, seemingly forgetting about the movie still playing in the living room.

"Pat," Vincent said quickly before Patrick could greet him with his lovely hotline.

"What are you doing calling me at this time of night, Vinnie?"

"Oh, I didn't realise what time it is," Vincent answered truthfully. He glanced at his watch. It was 4am.

"Is this an emergency?" Patrick said, mid-yawn.

"No-no, just thought I'd let you know that the experiment didn't--"

_CRASH_! The sound of broken glass could be heard from what Vincent believed to be the living room.

"Uh, I gotta go, Pat!" Vincent promptly hung up the phone.

* * *

Elizabeth Swann found herself in an unfamiliar place that was overbearingly white. Am I dead? She looked around with wide eyes and slowly walked towards the mantelpiece. There were various objects placed upon it, but one thing in particular intrigued her. What a beautiful vase, she thought to herself as she carefully picked it up. It was adorned with hand-painted roses and tiny bluebirds in a pink sky. 

The vase mesmerised Elizabeth and reminded her of her home in Port Royal. She felt so far from home, yet she couldn't figure out why. Where am I? Where is Will? The vase then slipped out of her grasp and shattered into hundreds of pieces onto the tiles below. Elizabeth could barely hold in the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.

* * *

Vincent raced towards the living room and came to an abrupt stop. Through the limited light, he saw what appeared to be a young woman in a Victorian gown, kneeling over a scattered mess of broken glass. 

Suddenly it dawned on him. "Holy shit," he whispered.

A wave of nausea swept over him as he thought of his next approach. Elizabeth Swann, a fictitious character as far as he was concerned, happened to be living and breathing in his very own living room.

Elizabeth heard footsteps behind her and quickly stood up. She found herself face to face with a man. He was tall with dark hair and pale blue eyes that seemed to look right through her. Elizabeth's heart was pounding so fast, she was certain the man could hear it.

"Where am I?" Elizabeth asked, her voice soft with a perfect English accent.

"Well, you're in my house. New York as a matter of fact," Vincent replied, casually approaching her.

Elizabeth backed herself into a corner.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, Elizabeth," said Vincent.

Elizabeth frowned, "How do you know who I am?"

"Well… you're a movie character… you know…?"

"A moving character? I don't understand. Who are you?"

"Yeah, that figures. I'm Vince. You don't know me," Vincent answered.

"What have you done with Will?"

As frightened as she was, Elizabeth tried her best to be strong for Will. Who knew what this crazy man had done to him? She couldn't remember what happened before she found herself in these surroundings but she knew for a fact that Will would have been with her.

"Uh, what?"

"I swear if any harm comes to him--"

Elizabeth's sentence was cut off.

"I don't have Orlando. I mean… I don't have your man," Vincent corrected himself. This was getting too much for him.

"Then where is he?"

"I dunno. Probably on TV looking for you…"

Vincent couldn't help staring at her puzzled expression. She was beautiful with deep brown eyes and hair piled into a bun, a few golden brown curls falling free. She had an innocence about her that could only have existed in the eighteenth century. This Will Turner was certainly a lucky guy.

"Anyhow, it's way too late to explain all this hoo-ha…" Vincent held out his hand encouragingly for Elizabeth, then added, "I'll get you set up in the spare room, okay?"

Out of politeness, Elizabeth reluctantly took his hand and followed his lead. She couldn't help but notice that his manner of dress was strange. Certainly not what she was used to.

Vincent led her down a hallway with large abstract paintings on the walls. Elizabeth found the artwork quite disturbing as she couldn't quite decipher what it was. The lingering paint fumes invaded her nose and she began feeling a little light-headed.

"I need to sit down," Elizabeth uttered breathlessly.

"We're almost there, just a few more steps," Vincent encouraged.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth couldn't make a few more steps. She felt the room spinning rapidly as she gave in to the blackness that overcame her.


	3. The Call Back

**Chapter Three - The Call Back**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**._

* * *

The next morning, Vincent woke up surprisingly early considering the lack of sleep he received last night. Still in his bedclothes, he slouched at the dining table. He needed his coffee fix and of course, his daily newspaper. He flipped the newspaper over. There it was - the only reason he subscribed to it in the first place - The Crossword. Peace and quiet was just what he needed. His favourite pen, dictionary and white-out was placed beside him. 

He set to the task at hand and scanned through the questions.

"Calypso wishes to free her love. Speak his name?" Vincent read aloud. This isn't even a question, he thought. This must be a cryptic clue.

Vincent never saw _At World's End _and therefore had no idea who 'Calypso' was. As far as he was concerned, it was a random name they decided to put in the cryptic crossword today. He tried rearranging the letters of the name for a suitable word.

Frustrated, he decided to break away from the insane mind-workout and make some toast. He had a feeling Elizabeth would be up soon and he didn't know how long ago it was when she last ate. On second thought… Does she eat? Technically she doesn't exist…

Slices of bread were inserted into the toaster as the orange light inside heated the chrome exterior. Vincent stared at the steam wafting into the air. The smell of slightly burnt toast followed not long after. He was suddenly snapped out of his daze as the high-pitch sound of his phone invaded his thoughts.

"Uh, hello?" Vincent asked, somewhat surprised that someone should be calling him.

"Is this Vincent Roberts?" asked the female voice on the other end.

"Yeah, that's me."

"You applied for a job at Medical & Chemical Contributors, yes?"

"Yeah. Yeah I did. Any news?" Vincent was surprised to hear back from this crowd.

"We'd like you to come in for an interview this afternoon. How does 2 o'clock sound?"

"Uh… I'll just check my schedule," he lied, stalling for time.

Vincent thought about this for a moment. He had a dilemma on his hands. Elizabeth Swann was in his house and he couldn't exactly leave her there. But then it wasn't every day he had an offer like this. After all, he was certainly lacking in the money department and could really do with a real job.

"Sure. Sounds great. I'll be there." And he promptly hung up the receiver.

Vincent sighed. Maybe Patrick isn't doing anything today.

After dialling in Patrick's number, Vincent tapped his fingers impatiently on the table as he waited for an answer.

"Damn, must you call me this early?"

"Think of me as your brotherly alarm clock," Vincent replied sarcastically, then added, "What happened to Patricia's Hotline, huh? Is she on a break or something?"

"Nah, she's hung-over. What do you want? Don't tell me you're THAT desperate, Vinnie."

"Not at all... Anyhow, what are you doing today?" Vincent asked.

Patrick could smell a rat.

"You're full of questions this morning. Can't I have a hangover in peace?" Patrick complained as he lay in an unmade bed, eyes closed, his head leaning against the wooden headboard.

"Hangover or not, you won't get peace from me, Pat. You know that," Vincent stated the cold, hard facts.

"This better be good," Patrick groaned.

"I'm offering you a vacation. It'll do wonders for your head," bribed Vincent.

Patrick quickly opened his eyes and sprung up out of bed, regretting it straight away.

"Vinnie, you should've said so earlier," Patrick rubbed his aching head. "So what do you want?"

"Well, it's nothing really. I gotta go out of town for an interview and I'll probably be gone a few days. I just want someone to watch the place, you know… and my stuff," Vincent answered.

There was a disappointing pause.

"Oh and wait! There's more! If you agree now, you'll receive free broadband, unlimited telephone usage, cable television with all your _favourite _channels…" Vincent did his best impression of an infomercial.

"I think I'll take you up on your offer," Patrick tried to sound less than enthusiastic.

"Oh, and there is one other thing, but I'll tell you that when you get here."

Vincent spotted Elizabeth Swann in the corner of his eye cautiously approaching him.

"Excuse me, Sir?" Elizabeth began, unaware that he was preoccupied on the phone.

Vincent pressed the mute button on the cordless phone and faced her, the voice down the other end chattering incessantly.

"I don't mean to be rude but could you please escort me to the ladies room?"

"Sure… and call me Vince," he said to Elizabeth, then back into the phone, "Pat, I gotta go. Oh, and you better be here in a few hours," with that he hung up the phone.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow. Who was he talking to? There was no one else in the room except herself and she certainly wasn't this 'Pat'.

* * *

Elizabeth stood alone in the cold bathroom with her bare feet upon the orange and green shaggy mat that clashed against the pastel linoleum floor. She curled her toes into the soft fibres of the mat and wondered if Will knew where she was. Is he coming for her? Does he even know she's gone? Surely someone out there would have told Will of her abduction - if she could call it that -… even _him_. 

She considered climbing out the window but realised it was impossible when she saw steel bars blocking her escape, making her feel more imprisoned than she thought she was. She would have to tread carefully.

Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom feeling a little fresher than before; though she would have preferred a clean change of clothes. She made her way down the long hallway and turned right, finding herself in the living room. The broken glass was cleaned up and the room looked much different in the daytime.

She made herself comfortable in one of the ultra soft armchairs, unlike the hard wooden ones she was used to back home. It rocked slightly as she sat in it. She could get used to this, she thought.

Vincent made his way into the living room, suitcases and all.

"I'm going away for a few days," he started.

Elizabeth felt her heart jump for joy at those very words. She could escape!

"Oh, I wish you a safe journey," Elizabeth said politely.

Vincent found her politeness slightly unnerving.

"Yeah, that's nice… My brother Pat's gonna be coming around to watch you so you don't have to worry about being here on your own, alright?"

There was a change in her demeanour.

"That won't be necessary. I'm more than capable of looking after myself," Elizabeth was adamant that she didn't need the extra protection _just_ because she's a woman.

"Yeah, yeah, I bet you are… but you don't belong here. Weird stuff can happen."

"Really, like what?"

"See this?" Vincent motioned to the 'machine' still placed on the coffee table. "I don't want you to go near this. It can be dangerous."

Curiosity washed over her. _Curiosity… _Oh, how she missed those pirate adventures.

"Yes, of course," was her reply.


	4. Patrick's Arrival & Vincent's Departure

**Chapter Four - Patrick's Arrival & Vincent's Departure**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**. _

* * *

Vincent looked at his watch and ran a nervous hand through his hair. It had been an hour. Where the hell is Pat?!

"Damn it! He's late!" he yelled.

Elizabeth jumped at the sudden outburst. Vincent silently cursed himself for startling her.

A few moments later, Patrick was standing on the doorstep looking worse for wear.

"You're late," Vincent said, glaring at Patrick.

"I'm here ain't I?"

"You coulda been here earlier."

Patrick shoved his way past Vincent and entered the house. Dropping his bags on the floor nowhere in particular, he made his way towards the kitchen and opened the fridge. Seeing nothing of interest, Patrick screwed up his face and slammed the fridge door shut.

"Pat, I have a list of chores waiting for you on the dining table," informed Vincent, who now stood behind Patrick.

"I thought you said this was a vacation." Patrick was regretting this trip already.

"It is, trust me. I don't _just _want you to watch my house," Vincent began. "Something happened."

"Something's _always _happening with you, Vinnie," Patrick replied sarcastically.

"It worked!" Vincent couldn't contain his excitement.

"What worked?" Patrick frowned at his brother like he was mad.

"You know, the invention I told you about? It worked! Elizabeth Swann is here!"

Patrick laughed hysterically.

"That's the best one yet, Vinnie! You called me all the way over here just to tell me _that_?"

Vincent had a feeling this wouldn't go down too well. He decided to take the serious approach.

"I'm not kidding. She's in my living room," came the straight-faced reply.

"Let me guess… you've got Jack Sparrow in your shower?" Patrick managed to say in between bouts of laughter.

Vincent rolled his eyes.

"No, there's no Jack Sparrow in my shower. Sorry to disappoint you, Pat."

* * *

Eyes closed, Elizabeth leaned her head back against the cushioned armchair, smiling to herself. It was extremely comfortable. The sun shone through the Venetian blinds warming the room pleasantly. If only there was a pot of hot camomile tea and marmalade scones. More importantly, if only there was Will to share the moment with… 

Suddenly, the intricate machine on the coffee table just inches away from her began to light up. Yellow lit up her surroundings, swirling faster and faster, changing to orange, then to pink. What a beautiful sight, Elizabeth thought, though her heart pounded in her chest. A high-pitched sound then rang throughout the living room causing Elizabeth to cover her pained ears. Unaware of what to expect, she gathered up her skirts and dashed towards the kitchen where she would find Vincent and the unsuspecting Patrick.

* * *

"Something is wrong!" Elizabeth shakily exclaimed. "That… that _thing_! It--" 

Vincent knew exactly what she was talking about, but before he had a chance to react, he was suddenly reminded that Patrick was standing at a very close proximity to the commotion.

"Holy shit," Patrick whispered upon seeing Elizabeth, his jaw dropping to the floor. "How the hell did you get _Keira Knightley _here?"

Shock was evident on Patrick's face. He stood dead still, his mouth wide open.

"This is _Elizabeth Swann_," Vincent corrected, motioning towards her.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Elizabeth curtsied.

There was still no movement on Patrick's behalf.

"Uh, yeah… Elizabeth, this is my brother, Pat," Vincent nudged Patrick in the side to no avail.

Elizabeth couldn't help but inspect Patrick in his trance-like state. He was very similar to Vincent, except a little taller and lankier. His unkempt hair was a tad longer and of an unnatural purple-ish shade which he attempted to hide under a woollen hat. She had never seen hair of that description before, though she couldn't bring herself to ask what happened to it.

"Is he feeling well?" Elizabeth asked, concerned.

"Yeah, he's fine. He just wasn't expecting to see you, that's all," Vincent tried his best to explain, waving a hand in front of his brother's face.

"…Whoa…" Patrick managed to utter.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Elizabeth asked softly.

Seeing no other choice, Vincent took Elizabeth by the arm and escorted her into the living room. He sat her down on the paisley sofa, the look of concern still apparent on her face. The machine had quietened down, much to her liking.

"He's gonna need some time to calm down. Just… stay in here, okay?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I hope this isn't my fault."

"It's not your fault. No way," Vincent lied through his teeth. He couldn't bear to make her feel bad.

"But if it weren't for me, he would be able to speak at this very moment."

Avoiding the conversation, Vincent aimed the remote at the television and pressed the power button.

"--_like the crowd is sayin', gimme, gimme more, gimme more, gimme, gimme more--" _

"Here, you can watch this for a bit. If you don't like what you see, just press this," he said as he pointed to the red power button.

"This is incredible! What is this?" Elizabeth stared at the glowing box containing the raunchy Britney Spears video clip.

"_That_, my friend, is what you call _Britney_," Vincent explained lovingly.

Vincent saw the look of disproval across Elizabeth's face. Her eyebrows raised in disbelief as the woman on the glowing box danced in an inappropriate way. Elizabeth's thoughts ran wild; How could she do that? What is that outfit she's wearing? Where's her sense of decency? It was then that Vincent realised this type of behaviour was _not_ accepted in Elizabeth's century.

"Oh, it's…" Elizabeth was at a loss for words, unable to describe it, then finally deciding on, "…different."

Vincent could tell she was uncomfortable. "Well, if you wanna see something else, just press any of these little numbers here…" he said as he pressed a few random numbers, flicking through just a handful of the hundreds of channels.

"May I?" she asked.

Vincent handed the remote over to an excited Elizabeth. She began pressing numbers like an expert. She was most certainly a fast learner.

"_--The all new Mack 3 now with three blades for triple protection" "Gillette, the best a man can get--" _

"This is delightful!" Elizabeth smiled. She couldn't wait to tell Will what Gillette had been up to. Not to mention, the jingle was extremely catchy. Who would've thought?

"_--ARRGGHHH" "IT'S GONNA EAT ME!" "When animals ATTACK!--"_

Too frightening. She flicked it again, making sure to aim it at the television as she did so.

"_--pop it into the oven for 25 minutes. I recommend it best served with a side dish of pasta, preferably alfredo--"_

Oh, this was much too exciting. Elizabeth made herself comfortable, puffing up the velvet cushions and placing them behind her back. She relaxed into the softness, remote in hand, completely drawn into the magnificent cube. She was so absorbed, it never occurred to her that Vincent had left the room.

"--s_tay tuned! We have an interview with Orlando after the break on Interviews With The Stars! A special--"_

Elizabeth gasped as she saw a familiar face appear on the screen. She watched intently as her Will was greeted by the host of the show, shaking hands as if he knew them. How is this so? She couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was oddly different about him… his hair, his clothes, _everything_. Perhaps being the immortal Captain of the Flying Dutchman has done to this him, she thought.

She hurried towards the television and knelt down, her face inches away from the screen. She then ran her fingers softly over the glass, trying to reach him. There must be a way!

"Will? Will can you hear me? It's me, Elizabeth!"

Before she knew it, his smiling face was replaced with a less than appealing advertisement.

"_--Buy the new hatchback model now! Top gear, airbags, smoothest ride on the--"_

"I miss you, Will," she whispered.

* * *

Vincent's silver station-wagon came to a complete stop at traffic lights, almost ramming into the courier van in front of him. He was distracted, wondering how Elizabeth and Patrick were getting on and reconsidering the whole job interview trip all over again. His fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel. 

"I'm already on the road so there's no point turning back now," he said to himself.

Vincent then pictured his house crawling with disease-carrying rats, Elizabeth electrocuting herself with the toaster, and Patrick falling asleep in the algae-infested swimming pool in the backyard.

He took a deep breath.

"They'll be fine," he muttered, "Just fine."


	5. The Unexpected Visitor

**Chapter Five - The Unexpected Visitor**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**. _

* * *

Many hours had passed. Surrounded in empty bottles, Patrick sat at the dining table, sipping on a small glass of vodka. The hot liquid burned its way down his throat. Damn, that's good stuff, he thought to himself as he set the glass down on the plastic coaster. Lifting the bottle for another top-up, Elizabeth walked into the dining room. Patrick, disappointed with the interruption, looked up at her. 

"I would like to enquire as to whether there will be a dinner prepared tonight," Elizabeth asked.

"There's food in the pantry," Patrick pointed towards the kitchen. "Help yourself."

"I-I don't know how to cook," she responded, ashamed of that fact.

Patrick sighed, "Make a sandwich then."

"Do you not have a cook? It's not required of me to take care of kitchen duties."

Patrick could hardly suppress his laughter at her subtle insults.

"What do you think this is? A hotel?"

"No, I didn't mean that. I just thought--"

"Think less often," Patrick interjected.

He had only been here six hours, yet Patrick had had enough. Sure, _Keira Knightley _was hot, but this _Elizabeth Swann _constantly annoyed him - even though the two are practically one in the same. The sound of her voice, no matter how sweetly she spoke, crawled under his skin and irritated him. Ridding himself of her would be a dream come true, Patrick thought. He sincerely couldn't wait to get back home to the normality of his non-adventurous life.

* * *

Daylight gave way to the night as Patrick collapsed onto the airbed that Vincent had left out for him. Patrick could guarantee he was in for another hangover tomorrow morning, but he really couldn't care less. He'd rather have an excuse to stay in bed instead of having to deal with Miss Swann's requests. This was one weird day.

* * *

The bedside lamp softly lit up the room as Elizabeth Swann propped herself up in bed, leaning back against a creamy white pillow. She had trouble keeping her eyes open yet she was too worried about Will to sleep. The memory kept replaying over in her head; the man she loved, within arms reach, trapped behind the glass of the glowing box.

"Three in the morning is indeed late," Elizabeth thought to herself as she glanced at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. She recalled hearing Patrick heading to bed hours ago and drunkenly bidding her goodnight. Oh, how she wanted to see Will again. And now was her chance.

Wearing only her undergarment, Elizabeth quickly jumped out of bed. She opened the door quietly and cautiously peered out into the dark hallway. The coast was clear. She then proceeded towards the living room.

Fumbling around in the dark, her hand brushed against a doorknob. Elizabeth, unsure of which room was behind the door, curiously pressed her ear against the wood. The shuffling of feet could be heard from inside, among other strange sounds that she couldn't distinguish. Her heart raced. Slowly, she turned the handle and crept into the room. The sight before her, much to her dismay, was not what she expected.

"Jack?"

"Ah, Elizabeth. Why am I not at all surprised to see you?" Jack said, frantically rummaging through empty bottles of various alcoholic beverages that were left lying on the dining table. Yet, upon seeing Elizabeth Swann, he realised the rum would be long gone.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

"Now _that _is a good question, love."

Jack swaggered around the room, taking in his surroundings as if it were an opportunity for financial gain. As he strode past the kitchen sink, the shine of a faux gold ashtray which Vincent bought at the dollar store for a few coins, caught Jack's eye. He approached the item, studied it closely and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

Elizabeth, impatient with Jack's less than proper behaviour, began to worry about the noise level. Surely, Patrick must have heard something.

"A-ha!" Jack exclaimed in delight as he spotted a large crate under the counter.

Thinking it may disappear before him, Jack raced towards it. He knelt down and reached into the depths of what lay beyond the wooden exterior. He pulled out, much to his surprise, a can of 'bacardi rum' according to the label. His brow furrowed as he inspected every inch of the strange tubular metal-like object he held in his hand.

Leaning in close, Elizabeth looked over Jack's shoulder, "What is it?" she asked.

"Rum," he replied confused, though not seeing any rum at all. "I'd love to know what ye did to it this time, love."

"I didn't do anything to it, Jack," Elizabeth defended. She was as confused as Jack on the matter.

Why won't the rum let me drink it? Jack thought. This dream is not good. Little did he know, it wasn't about to improve any time soon…

"Where the bloody hell are we?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth replied. "But we must save Will."

"_We_? I'm sorry to inform you, Lizzie, but the whelp is _your _responsibility, therefore _you _will be saving him, savvy?" Jack informed as he continued to inspect the so-called 'rum'.

"Will is in danger and he's not acting like himself, Jack. I'm worried about him. He might be hurt!"

"Did ye not hear a word of what I just said?"

"Please! He needs our help!" Elizabeth pleaded.

Jack considered the situation. Perhaps he could gain something of interest for his efforts should he decide to help dear William from his grim fate.

"Ye best try harder than that, love," Jack suggestively smiled at her.

"Ugh, you're impossible, Jack Sparrow!"

Jack couldn't help himself. "It's _Captain _Jack Sparrow," he corrected.

And with that, Elizabeth Swann stormed out of the room.


	6. This Day Keeps Getting Better

**Chapter Six - This Day Keeps Getting Better**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney.**_

* * *

Patrick awoke to the inconsiderate sound of Vincent's alarm clock, shrilling viciously at 6am. He cursed a few swear words under his breath before reaching an arm out and unfortunately not finding a bedside table. Damn it, I'm on the floor in a crusty airbed, he thought, slowly getting his bearings.

The alarm clock still drilling his head into what felt like a thousand pieces, Patrick emerged from the less than comfortable airbed. Clad in his 'Jump Me' boxer shorts, his hair a complete mess, and the lack of a shirt, Patrick decided a trip to the kitchen in search of a cure for his hangover - was just what the doctor ordered.

He strolled his way into the kitchen and casually opened the fridge, seeking out whatever alcohol he could find. On second thought, where was the alcohol? Seeing nothing alcoholic in the fridge, Patrick reached for the cordless phone, his temper rising near boiling point.

"Vincent!" He yelled down the line, his own voice causing the pounding in his head to intensify threefold.

"Diss be not Veencent," answered a woman's voice down the other end.

"What is this? Some sort of sick joke? I'm really pissed off right now and now's not a good time!"

"Not all things happen at da right time…"

Patrick thought about this for a moment. Who the hell has Vincent's cellphone?

"Vinnie, I know you think the whole 'Patricia's Hotline' thing is funny, but this… this is really insane, quit it alright," Patrick couldn't decide whether he wanted to hang up on this so-called woman or not.

"You can not find wot you want, no?"

The woman on the other line intimidated Patrick more than he was willing to admit. She had a wisdom about her and she appeared to know more than what she was letting on. It was too believable. Too _real_, he thought. Vincent couldn't possibly pull off something like this…

"Yeah, well, I got a hang--uh, a headache, so if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to my brother… now preferably," Patrick pressed on.

"Diss is not da end."

The sound of the dead dial tone rang in Patrick's ear. Oh, how he hated that sound.

Patrick then rationally decided at that very moment, to lay off intoxicating himself to this extent for the rest of his life! Or perhaps maybe a month - no, make that a week - or a day or two. Anyhow, from whichever way he looked at it, this was the hangover from hell.

"Damn it!" he cursed.

That was _very _bizarre, Patrick thought. The accented voice sounded eerily familiar somehow, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

* * *

Not long after, the phone then sounded its exceedingly ear-splitting ring-tone. He reached for it, thinking it may be one of his clients; as he left a message on his answer machine referring them to Vincent's home phone number. 

"Patricia's on a break. What do you want? " Patrick impatiently greeted the anonymous caller.

"Hey! I'm glad to hear of Patricia's absence. How's everything going, Pat?" Vincent asked.

Patrick couldn't believe this. A few seconds ago, there was some strange woman calling from the exact same number.

"I gotta ask you something. Are you with a woman?" Patrick asked. There was no other explanation.

"Uh… no, sadly not," Vincent replied as he leaned against the balcony railing of his budget hotel room, his small flip-top cellphone held closely to his ear.

"Crap." Patrick then thought of something else, "Did you lend your cell to a woman in the last ten seconds?"

"I have hardly enough credit to last _me _a week, let alone allowing every other person to help themselves to it. You know that."

"Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist," Patrick rolled his eyes at his brother's defensive attitude.

There was a moment of silence before Patrick continued on.

"Look, Vinnie, I called you a few seconds ago and a creepy woman with an incredibly sexy voice answered your cell. I swear she was watching me. The only thing is, I thought it was you trying to be funny," Patrick explained, hardly believing it himself.

"Wow, that's just downright wrong," came Vincent's offended reply.

"Hell, _you _explain it then. Give someone else this vacation."

Vincent tapped nervously along the railing as he paced back and forth.

"No no, I believe you. I've been called by this woman myself, Pat, but it's impossible she could've called you from my cell. I was on it to the company right before I called you," added Vincent, absorbed in anxious pacing.

Too irrational. Too impossible. Too _insane_.

Patrick wanted out of this whole thing more so than Vincent. Even the broadband internet, cable TV and unlimited phone usage suddenly wasn't worth the trouble. Why did Vincent have to drag him into this crazy mess?

"By the way, how is Elizabeth doing?" Vincent asked, in an attempt to change the subject to a more pleasant one.

Patrick sighed. "Yeah, the Swann's fine. Extremely annoying, but fine."

"You'll live. Well, the reason I called," Vincent began, "I want you to make sure the _appliance _is out of her reach. I know she gets curious sometimes."

"Sure," Patrick's eyes struggled to stay open.

"Oh, and make sure she's comfortable and well fed."

Blah, blah, blah, Patrick thought.


	7. Where Is Jack?

**Chapter Seven - Where Is Jack?**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**. _

* * *

Time continued to drag on as 8am rolled by. Clearly not a morning person, Patrick grabbed his bowl of over-sugared cornflakes and slumped down at the dining table. His appetite was barely there as he stirred the cereal that resembled mush unenthusiastically. 

"Good morning, sir. Did you sleep well?"

There was Elizabeth Swann's painfully irritating voice.

"Yeah, just _absolutely _great. This day is getting better by the second," Patrick replied sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm pleased to hear that."

Elizabeth took a seat opposite Patrick, watching as he spooned up the mush and dropped it back into the bowl, only to repeat the process again.

"Are you going to eat that?" she asked.

"What does it look like?" Patrick anticipated Elizabeth's criticism.

"Well it's not at all good table manners," Elizabeth informed, hoping to educate him on the matters of etiquette.

"Do I look like I give a rat's arse?"

"Excuse me?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "You heard what I said."

"That is utterly disgusting. How could you say such a thing?"

"Very easily."

Elizabeth was appalled. This man didn't even bother to change into appropriate day-wear! There he was, shirtless, not at all presentable, mixing his breakfast to a pulp - and seemingly on purpose - in front of a woman of high society!

Looking around the modern kitchen, Elizabeth then thought of her less than successful encounter with _Captain _Jack Sparrow last night. She knew Jack was a good man underneath it all, but she didn't understand why he'd refuse to help her; if not for her, at least for Will. Naturally, Jack wanted something in return. She should've expected that.

Ugh, Elizabeth thought to herself. Jack couldn't have seriously meant what he implied, she pondered, horrified at the thought of having to _kiss _him again or _god knows _what else, just for him to do the right thing. Surely, Jack must consider Will a friend? After all they've been through…

It then dawned on her. Where _is _Jack?

* * *

Disorientated and bewildered to say the least, Jack Sparrow opened his kohl-lined eyes to find himself unusually trapped in a poky confinement. A rather dark one at that. Thinking he was dead yet again or even worse, Jack felt around the restricted space for any clue as to his whereabouts. 

A-ha! His fingers brushed against the unmistakable feeling of glass which could only mean rum was involved. But then again, knowing that simple fact didn't help the situation much, considering he _still_ had no idea where he was at this present time.

The thought of putting his trusty compass to good use seemed a reasonable solution, however being able to see in the dark was not one of Jack's hidden talents. Bugger.

Oh well, he quite liked the sound of: "Captain Jack Sparrow sacrifices his life to be lost forever in a dark abyss while doing something exceedingly heroic" - whatever that heroic thing will _be_, he couldn't quite decide on. Fortunately, he had a feeling there'll be plenty of time to think it over in his current situation.

Jack tapped on the cushioned walls surrounding him much to his surprise. A _soft _abyss. That's interesting, he thought. He then decided it was a great opportunity to sleep off his terrible headache. Why did he not think of that earlier?

Jack's eyes closed for a brief moment as the muffled sound of two male voices came closer. Instantly wide awake, Jack tried his best to listen in to the New York accents.

"Yeah, we gotta be there by 2pm this arvo."

"_That _soon? Well, we better load her up then."

Without any warning, Jack felt his stomach churn as the surroundings the of abyss_ moved_. It was a bad idea to drink rum beforehand, yet he couldn't recall how much he'd had. Nor could he recall how he managed to get himself into this predicament.

On the positive side, he couldn't wait to tell the crew about this grand adventure of survival in the moving, dark abyss. Yet, leaving out the fact that it was exceptionally soft and comfortable would be a good idea. And be sure to mention he accomplished said adventure _without _rum. He made a mental note to exaggerate that particular piece of information.

"Oi! You!" Jack yelled at the feeling of being dropped, his head hitting the cushion overhead.

"Yo, Bobby, did ya hear that?"

"Hear what, Carl?"

"Nah, it's nuttin'. This seem heavier to you?"

"Eh, they use different materials on the pricey ones."

"I ain't see the point, ya know."

"Nah, ya don't want Joey to hear ya say that, Carl."

"Let's get a move on then."

Neither voice sounded much like Elizabeth, Jack thought, somewhat relieved and somewhat not. Actually, they didn't sound like _anyone _familiar. That _may _be a good thing to some extent.

A rumbling could be heard as Jack felt the abrupt vibrations to accompany the dull sound. Add '_rumbling' _to the long list of words used to describe this extraordinary abyss, Jack noted. The suspicion he was being treated as cargo - and not that of the _Pearl,_ crossed his mind.

This is definitely not good.


	8. It Can't Get Much Worse Than This

**Chapter Eight - It Can't Get Much Worse Than This**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**. _

* * *

Light forced it's way into the abyss, awakening Jack from one of the most finest sleeps he'd ever experienced. Adjusting his dark eyes to the unwelcome light, he felt something unusual prodding at him. He was suddenly reminded of his predicament and the enormous headache to complement it. 

Two middle-aged men hovered over him. The shorter of the two held a pool-cue in his hand. Jack eyed the stick cautiously, detecting the culprit of said prodding.

"Is it alive, Carl?" The question was inane. It was _obvious _that Jack was indeed alive.

"I 'unno," replied Carl, as he repeatedly poked at the Jack Sparrow wannabe stashed in their car trunk.

Jack could barely tolerate it any longer.

"Is that…" Jack motioned towards the pool-cue, "…absolutely necessary?" he frowned, effortlessly brushing the invasive stick away.

"Yeah, or else we wouldn't be doin' it," replied the taller man, evidently named Bobby.

The prodding eventually stopped as they stood in silence and stared at the pirate.

"He looks a lot like the real deal, ya know."

"Maybe it is…" considered Carl.

"Can't be." Bobby scratched his head in disbelief. He didn't want to admit it, but the pirate uncannily _did _look a lot like the original.

"Why not?" Carl questioned.

Bobby scoffed. "Jack Sparrow ain't real."

"_Captain _Jack Sparr--," Jack began, but was inconsiderately cut off.

"How do you know he ain't real?" Carl butted in. "What 'bout Santa or the Tooth Fairy?"

Carl was certainly one sandwich short of a picnic. His stupidity never failed to amaze Bobby and the gang.

Fed up, Bobby pointed at Jack, "This ain't the _pirate_…" he explained, "This is the _actor -_ Get it?"

"What the hell would _he _be doing in our trunk…dressed like _that_?" Carl questioned.

"Don't ask me, dimwit!"

Jack rolled his eyes impatiently as the two men bickered. It seemed too familiar for his liking.

"If I may be so bold as to intrude on this dynamic conversation," interrupted Jack, "It would be greatly appreciated if ye could inform me of my whereabouts concerning my current location. Ye see... it appears I've yet again, regrettably and questionably, lost my orientational bearings of latitude, longitude and last but not least - shortitude," Jack rambled on, adding in words that don't exist.

"We coulda told ya that, you nut-job," snapped Bobby.

Jack frowned. Nut-job, eh? That's interesting. Where _are _those peanuts? Come to think of it, he was feeling rather hungry.

"Well, it has been a pleasure conversing with you two fine gentlemen, but I truly must be going. Things to do, people to see, bearings to locate - ye know how it goes, eh?" Jack said as he made to clamber his way out of the abyss he'd come accustomed to.

"Oh no you don't!"

Suddenly, Jack was pushed back as the lid of the trunk slammed down on him, intensifying the headache he already had. He'll have to try a different approach considering negotiation had failed him on this occasion. Ah well, back to square one, he thought as the darkness overcame him for the second time. Bugger.

* * *

TV blaring, Patrick leaned back against the paisley sofa and glanced over at Elizabeth who was sitting to his left. She rested in the armchair and flicked her way through a science magazine which she had helped herself to from the coffee table. At least this way he wouldn't have to deal with her aggravating voice, he thought. If only he didn't have to deal with the rest of her. 

"_--get the latest on Tom-Kat, Britney's bad behaviour, Orlando's accident and more in the new OK! Magazine. On sale now!--"_

Elizabeth looked up from the magazine and saw the face of the man she loved on the screen, if only for a brief moment.

"Will," Elizabeth whispered, knowing what she must do. She must save him. With Jack's help, she was certain she could - that is if she knew where on earth he'd disappeared to.

Patrick mentally kicked himself. He should've told her to read elsewhere.

"What about him?" Patrick asked, yet not really caring to know.

"Where is he?" Elizabeth firmly questioned.

"I dunno," he said, annoyed at his brother's lack of communication. "Damn, did Vinnie not explain all this crapola to you?"

"Explain it," she threatened. Elizabeth wanted answers and she wanted them now.

Patrick ignored her and continued to watch TV. It wasn't his responsibility, he thought.

"_--And we're back with Dr Phil! Julia says her son has been wreaking havoc on the family causing her to quit her job--"_

Out of spite, Elizabeth stood in front of the television, blocking Patrick's view. She folded her arms and glared furiously at him.

Much to his surprise, Patrick shifted uncomfortably under Elizabeth's stare. He inwardly laughed at himself for doing so. She's completely harmless. Persistent though.

"Where is Will?" she pressed further, her voice louder than before.

"I _said _I don't know. Now move your ass out of the way," Patrick snapped.

"No! I'm not moving! Not until you tell me everything you know!"

"Frankly, I'm the wrong person to ask, sorry, babe," Patrick replied. "You should be asking Vinnie."

He was then reminded of his brother's call from earlier. Knowing Vincent, it must have been somewhat important or else he wouldn't have bothered calling. What was it he wanted? Damn, for the life of him, Patrick couldn't remember.

"Ahem," Elizabeth cleared her throat, making her presence be known. She refused to be ignored.

Patrick purposely snubbed her and reached for a random pamphlet from the coffee table. He scanned over the wooden surface, hopefully finding junk-mail that contained cars, hot girls, or food. Something was missing from the small table…

"Shit," he muttered.

The machine was gone.

* * *

Later that evening, on the other side of town, the two suspect men sat in their rusty, beat-up black '72 Holden Premier situated in an old warehouse parking lot. The sun was beginning to set as they discussed their plan of action, an oblivious Jack Sparrow still crammed in the car trunk, singing '_A Pirate's Life' _at full volume. 

"Bobby, I don't trust actors. I think we should get ridda' him," said Carl. The leather car seats squeaked as he shifted his weight.

"No way in _Chicago_, Carl. As soon as we let him go, you know what he's gonna do? Rat on us, that's what. We're in deep shit. We could be done big-time for this. You wanna be someone's bitch in prison?"

"No, not exactly. Well, why not let's dump him somewhere. He don't know us. Besides, I think he's on somethin', you know? You saw how he was…" Carl added, "Them pirate movies musta got to his head."

"Damn, he must be on some good stuff," Bobby mused.

"Yeah. Ya know, I ain't feel too good about hijacking Johnny Depp. Don't he got a family?"

"Think of the money, Carl. We could make a lotta dough. The big bucks. The _Jack_pot. Get my drift?"

Jack sang loudly from the trunk, "…_And really bad eggs. Drink up me hearty's yo ho!! YO HO!! YO HO!!" _

Carl nodded and took a long drag from his cigarette. Jack had been singing that maddening song for the past few hours. It was driving both Carl and Bobby insane. Why Jack was in such high spirits, they couldn't understand.

"I gotta better idea. Why don't we just…" Bobby's left hand then imitated a gun. "I'd really enjoy doin' that right now. I can't deal with this git."

Nervously, Carl sank into the seat. He wasn't too keen on murdering people. Personally, he was happy to leave the pirate in this deserted parking lot and get back to the regular breaking-and-entering routine.

"I think we should just leave him here... We don't gotta kill him..." Carl said quickly.

_"--Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate_'s_ life for MEEEEEE!!--" _Jack's grand finale burned into their ears.

"Oh, yes we do. There's only one way to shut this idiot up."

Singing that damn song one more time was the last straw.

_"--Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate_'s_ life for me--_"

"Whaddaya know?" sighed Bobby, as Jack started up again.

Carl shrugged.

Bobby then nodded towards the back of the car, an evil smirk across his face.

"Depp is dead."


	9. An UnEventful Evening Of Surprise

**Chapter Nine - An (Un)Eventful Evening Of Surprise**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**. _

_

* * *

_It was almost as if Patrick hadn't eaten in weeks as he reached for the still-steaming pizza box for the sixth time that evening. Grease oozed down his chin as he took an enormous bite out of the Hawaiian slice of heaven he'd been hanging out for. Pizza was a great excuse for a distraction, if only just a brief one, to make up for the disappearance of his brother's beloved machine. 

He then felt Elizabeth's dark eyes upon him.

"Di'ya wa' so'?" Patrick asked, mouth full, mozzarella cheese dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth asked, unable to make any sense of what he'd just said.

Patrick gulped down loudly. "Did you want some?" he repeated.

"No, I'm fine, thankyou," Elizabeth replied, unable to take her eyes off the stringy matter adhered to his face.

"Oh well. Your loss, " Patrick shrugged.

Patrick glanced at Elizabeth's petite frame as she sat in the armchair she'd claimed as her own. Vincent's recent _Make Sure She's Well Fed _lecture replayed in the back of his mind, somewhat disturbing him. Damn. Where's the logic in that if she _chooses _not to eat? Patrick refused to be held responsible for her actions, knowing for a fact that Vincent would never forgive him if he allowed her to starve

"Sure you don't want some?" Patrick sighed, his conscience getting the better of him.

"I said I'm fine!" she snapped.

"Not a pizza fan then, huh?" He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater.

Elizabeth glared at him. This man was disgusting beyond belief.

_

* * *

_It was eleven o'clock at night as dim lights lit the abandoned parking lot insufficiently. Out of view from the main highway, there in the shadows, the two men got down to business. The cold air stung their trembling fingers.

Carl nervously rubbed his hands together. The click of his lighter could be heard as he lit his much-needed cigarette.

Bobby held the gun in his hand, aiming it straight at the trunk. "You open it. I shoot him. Got it?"

"He stopped singin' ages ago, Bobby. We don't gotta do this," Carl said.

"What the hell's wrong with you? Don't got the guts to do in Depp?"

"I just reckon we should bribe him or somethin', ya know," said Carl as he breathed in the smokey air.

"We been through this, Carl. Best to get rid of him."

"What about his kids? And his--"

Bobby's patience was running out. "Hurry up and open the goddamn trunk!"

Carl stomped out his cigarette before reluctantly removing the key from his jacket pocket. He glanced down at the small key contaminated with his fingerprints, and moved closer to the trunk.

The key barely came into contact with the aperture, when suddenly the trunk miraculously opened. Bobby and Carl stared, flabbergasted at the sight before them.

There was Jack Sparrow sitting in the trunk, without a care in the world.

"How'd he do that?" Carl whispered.

Bobby shrugged.

"What does it take to get a decent sleep around here, eh?" Jack asked.

"Sorry 'bout that. This idiot here don't know how to shut up," Bobby motioned towards Carl.

"Is that so?" Jack asked, yet not believing a word of it.

Carl stood back, shifting his gaze between Jack, Bobby and the ground he couldn't even see.

"Anyway, get back to sleep. I bet you gonna sleep _so _good, you ain't gonna wake up. How ya like the sound of that?" Bobby suggested, a grin planted across his face.

"Ah, now _that _is a brilliant idea," Jack replied, "Though one would suspect that you two men are in fact conspiring to eradicate a certain pirate."

"What gives you that idea?" Bobby asked innocently.

"Perhaps the pistol in your hand may have given that away," Jack replied, with an animated hand gesture towards the pistol which continued to point in his direction.

Shit, Bobby cursed at himself.

"We ain't gonna kill you. We just want your money," Carl quickly added. "And your drugs."

Bobby glared at Carl. This was _not_ part of the plan.

"That's not what I said," Bobby argued.

Carl was desperate. "C'mon, Bobby. Let's just take the goods and run."

"Like hell. He'll sue us for all we're worth - which ain't much," Bobby responded.

"We gonna be someone's bitch for sure," Carl mentioned, more to himself than to anyone else.

Jack interrupted, light-heartedly, "Ye know, I wouldn't mind an equal share in said money meself."

"Shut it, Depp," Bobby said calmly.

Jack's brow furrowed. He was confused even more-so than he was before he entered the abyss - or maybe not. Jack always had a plan… even when he didn't have a plan.

"What say I make ye a deal, eh?" Jack proposed.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "What the hell?"

"Say, we split the plunder 75-25. Since ye be requiring my services to attain said money - in which case I'll be pocketing 75 therefore leaving you with 25 - 'tis extremely feasible in my opinion. What do ye say to _that_?"

Carl looked to Bobby. Is Depp for real?

"Quit being so goddamn piratey. It's gettin' right up my ass," Bobby complained.

"I imagine that would be rather uncomfortable for ye, mate," was Jack's reply.

* * *

The phone rang, awakening Patrick from his sleep. He pulled back the covers, threw on a robe and raced towards the kitchen where the cordless phone awaited him. He picked up the receiver. 

"Yeah?" Patrick answered groggily.

"Patricia hasn't returned any of my calls," replied a disgruntled client.

"She doesn't do after-hours. Call back later," Patrick said, glancing at his wrist watch. Now wasn't the best time.

"No, I need to talk to her _now_!"

"I'll let her know you called," Patrick yawned.

"This is urgent!"

"Look, I know you're in a pickle right now, but hey, that's not my problem."

This is not happening, Patrick thought as he slammed down the receiver.

His brother was right. This so-called wonderful idea of a hot-line was indeed a desperate measure. Never did he think it would get so completely out of hand. Mentally kicking himself, he wondered what possessed him to allow these crazy-folk to reach him at Vincent's house.

Patrick rested his elbows upon the kitchen counter, thoughts buzzing around in his head, as he stared out the window into the night sky. He didn't even hear Elizabeth's feet upon the linoleum floor, approaching him from behind.

"I want answers," Elizabeth's demanding voice broke the silence.

Patrick spun around to face her. "Yeah, well as I said earlier, I don't have them."

"I'm serious. I won't leave this alone until I know what's going on. Where can I find Will?" Elizabeth inched towards Patrick, slowly closing in on him.

"Give it a rest." Patrick sighed and turned his back to the persistent woman. Ignoring Ms Swann seemed to work best in situations like this. He could only hope they wouldn't happen so often.

Elizabeth couldn't believe this! There was no way she was going stand by and do nothing while her Will is in danger and nowhere to be found. He could be hurt! Awful images tugged at her as she imagined the worst, unable to shake it from her mind. No one was willing to help her this time. She must do this alone.

One step after the other, Elizabeth Swann cautiously inched closer towards the man with his back to her. One wrong move could cost her everything. Everything she wasn't willing to give up. She took a deep breath, the fresh air filling her lungs. There she stood directly behind Patrick.

A rush of adrenaline came over her as she clutched the heavy golf-club tightly in her hands. This was her only chance. For Will. For their son. For them both.

With one mighty swing and all the force she could muster, Elizabeth struck the oblivious Patrick in the back of the head with the metal object. Before he knew what hit him, he collapsed onto the kitchen floor.


	10. Elizabeth's Narrow Escape

**Chapter Ten - Elizabeth's Narrow Escape**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**._

* * *

Wide-eyed, Elizabeth Swann cautiously pressed open the door to Patrick's borrowed room and peered inside. The sight before her was much what she'd expected. An unmade airbed lay in the centre of the room, a pile of unfolded clothing sat heaped in an armchair situated in the far corner, while crumpled cans were to be found strewn across the floor surrounded by inappropriate magazines. She didn't wish to be here any longer than necessary. 

Entering the disgraced room, Elizabeth stifled a cough as the scent of mildew mixed with cigarette smoke lingered in the air. She remained silent, eyeing her surroundings. Even her footsteps were barely audible upon the carpet soft beneath her feet.

Conscious not to step on anything, she quietly edged towards the armchair laden with clothes. Upon doing so, her foot accidentally came in contact with the ill-placed airbed, throwing her off balance.

"Oh!" Elizabeth gasped, landing safely on her hands and knees.

Unharmed yet shaken nonetheless, Elizabeth attempted to stand. The bed rebounded with every move she made, therefore making the task more difficult than she originally thought. Slightly aggravated, Elizabeth tried again albeit unsuccessfully.

* * *

Frustrated and moments later, Ms. Swann finally got to her feet after numerous tries. She glared at the foreign bed. Time was of the essence and that _thing _had cost her. 

Elizabeth sidestepped around the mess-riddled room and reached the chair. She leaned over, her back to the door, and helped herself to Patrick's laundry.

"There _must _be something here," she panicked, rummaging through the apparel.

Selecting a few items, Elizabeth placed them down on the floor and contemplated. She was afraid, lost, and alone. _Alone_. She couldn't imagine anything worse than being separated from the man she loved. Could she do this? Would Will have faith in her? Elizabeth doubted herself for a moment. She didn't want to admit it, but even having Jack's pathetic help would be better than none at all.

Elizabeth gathered up the clothes and made her way into the walk-in wardrobe.

* * *

Twenty minutes had passed. Elizabeth emerged from the wardrobe and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. She couldn't help but chuckle to herself at her unladylike appearance. There stood Ms. Swann clad in Patrick's wacky clothing. 

The zebra-striped shirt was indeed a little big and tacky, the holey jeans were loose and ill-fitting with frayed hems and stains. Elizabeth was completely fascinated with the zipper on the jeans, and consequently zipped and unzipped a fair number of times before leaving well alone.

Lastly, Elizabeth donned a black woollen beanie and tucked the loose strands of her hair neatly beneath it. For the final touch, she then placed a baseball cap on top. She smiled. It was enough to go unnoticed, she thought. A wonderful disguise. Little did she know how ridiculous she looked.

"I will save you, Will. I promise," Elizabeth said to the mirror image staring back at her. She was willing to do anything for him. There were no boundaries. She could only hope to be in his arms soon.

Elizabeth adjusted the collar of the zebra-striped shirt and gave her outfit a quick once over before reaching for a backpack that she had thankfully discovered beside the armchair. Hoisting the bag over her shoulder, Elizabeth then dashed into the kitchen in search of basic supplies for survival. She had no idea how long this journey would take.

* * *

The pantry was just what Elizabeth needed. She helped herself to the wheatmeal bread and placed the whole loaf into the backpack. She then ran her fingers slowly over the random canned food placed on the shelves and read the labels. Hesitantly, she took a few cans of spaghetti. How is she to open this? In a hurry, she then seized cans of baked beans, a couple of soup sachets and a bunch of bananas. 

Ready to leave, Elizabeth took one last look at the unconscious Patrick a few feet away, then gathered up her 'belongings' and headed towards the front door. She stopped short. A silhouette could be seen through the frosted glass.

_Knock-knock-knock-knock!_

"Open the goddamn door before I break it down!" That was the piercing sound of an infuriated visitor.

Elizabeth's heart raced in fear and her breath quickened. She is _alone_.

It was typical that _Captain_ Jack Sparrow was nowhere to be found. He won't help her. She mentally cursed Jack for being so elusive and unpredictable. Never will she rely on him again. Though one thing is for sure - when she finds him, he will know _exactly_ how she feels about being left in the lurch. Not only did she not like it one bit, but she hated the fact that her Will is in danger and Jack is okay with that!

The knocking refused to let up.

Elizabeth sighed. Why is it the _one _person who could help her at this very moment, is ironically resting on the kitchen floor? It then occurred to her. Yes! That's it!

Elizabeth hurriedly retraced her steps and retrieved the golf-club from the kitchen. She clutched it tightly in her hands as her nerves threatened to overcome her.

"Who is it?" Elizabeth called out, trying her best to sound intimidating.

"Open the door."

It couldn't possibly be Vincent, could it? Preparing herself mentally and physically, Elizabeth opened the door slightly. Unfortunately, it wasn't Vincent, Jack _or_ Will.

The scruffy man wedged his foot in the opening, using all his strength to force his way in. He stood in the foyer, gazing dreamily at the startled Elizabeth and her ridiculous outfit.

"So you think dressing-up is gonna do it?" he asked. He eyed her up and down.

"Leave," Elizabeth said calmly, the golf-club behind her back.

"You're so sexy when you're angry," he leered at Elizabeth.

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth couldn't believe her ears. This man is so forward! What is with the men around here?

"Don't play that game with me, Patricia," the man lunged for Elizabeth's waist causing her to gasp.

Distraught to say the least, Elizabeth had had enough.

"My name is _not _Patricia. My name is Elizabeth Swann," she sternly corrected as she swung the golf-club into the man's head. Just like Patrick, the man was out cold, lying pathetically in the doorway of Vincent's residence full of unconscious people.

Stepping over the sleeping body, Elizabeth took a deep breath as she finally set foot into the real world. As she did so, she recalled everything she put herself through. She still had no idea how she got here – yet that hardly mattered anymore. All that mattered was for Will to be safe.


	11. Irritating

**Chapter Eleven - Irritating**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**._

* * *

"So, you're gonna help us break into your house?" Bobby questioned. 

A rather confused Bobby glared in the rear-view mirror at the pirate who managed to talk his way into the backseat of their parked car. Depp is insane. That could be the only explanation, he thought.

"Not exactly, mate," replied Jack Sparrow.

"You're gonna _let_ us break into your house?" pitched in Carl, who nervously smoked his sixth cigarette.

Jack leaned back against the leather interior, confident as ever. "That's where you're wrong, lads. 'Tis not my house - therefore my professional authorisation of consensual permission to allow you to ransack, pillage and plunder this innocent edifice is considerably unfounded upon matters such as these."

Carl glanced at Bobby, a confused look on his face.

"Yeah…" Bobby replied, not comprehending a word of what he'd just said. "Or you could just give us your cash now."

"Now _that _is a good suggestion to be sure, but unfortunately, I'm not in possession of said cash - which is why I'd be most grateful for you two gentlemen to accompany me to this humble abode - wherever it may be - to retrieve the cash in question."

"…And the drugs. Don't forget the drugs," added Carl, barely containing his excitement. They were gonna be drug lords and millionaires!

Annoyed at Carl's enthusiasm, Bobby slapped him upside the head harder than he intended to, yet not caring too much about it.

"Ow! You bitch!" Carl spat, rubbing his aching head. "What was that for?"

"_We _call the shots around here! Not _him_!" Bobby yelled, his face fuming red.

"Sorry," was all Carl could say. "But I'm likin' his idea. I think it--"

Bobby clenched the steering wheel. "You don't even understand his goddamn idea!"

"Yeah, I do! He wants to rob his house!" Carl protested.

Jack interrupted, "For the last time, it's not me bloody house!"

"Shut the hell up!" Bobby and Carl yelled in unison, glaring over their seats at the pirate.

* * *

At the crack of dawn, Bobby restlessly got out of the car and slammed the door shut, awakening Carl in the process. He decided a bit of fresh air would do him some good - especially since the car reeked of a thousand dead fish with a sprinkle of body odour. 

"What are you doin' Bobby?" Carl sleepily asked.

"Gettin' the hell away from _him_. He smells like shit," Bobby pointed at the sleeping pirate sprawled across the backseat.

Carl glanced over at Jack. "I thought he smelt like fish."

Bobby rolled his eyes and leaned against the side of the car as he retrieved a cigarette from his pocket.

"You think I don't know that?" Bobby responded casually.

"I gotta give it to him, Bob. He's makin' me hungry."

"For Pete's sake, Carl! We're stuck in this hellhole with a filthy, stinkin', good for nothin' piece of shit, and all you can think about is your goddamn stomach? You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"Sorry, Bobby," Carl mumbled. "…But do ya think could we stop off and get some grub?"

Bobby lit his cigarette and took a long drag, eyeing his companion. He didn't want to admit it, but he too was feeling his stomach involuntarily grumbling. In an attempt to keep up his staunch demeanour, Bobby coughed to cover up the unwanted sound of his hunger.

"Dammit, alright! We'll get you a friggin' Happy Meal!" Bobby yelled.

Carls eyes lit up. "With the lil' toy?"

Bobby rolled his eyes.

* * *

The bright morning light shone through the kitchen window, forcing itself upon Patrick's face. Blinded, he opened his pained eyes. His head pounded ten times worse than any hangover he'd ever had in his whole life - which in his opinion was an understatement. Slowly rising to his feet, he looked around. What was he doing in the kitchen? 

"Huh," he uttered, scratching his head. He couldn't see any bottles or anything that indicated why he was out cold on the floor. Although he _did_ remember having an odd dream… Elizabeth Swann in Vincent's house? Yeah right.

Strolling towards the answering machine, Patrick decided to check out the messages.

"Hey, Pat. It's Vince here. Just letting you know I'm coming home tonight - around about… uh… six thirty. By the way, what's the state of my house like? If you've trashed it, you'll be paying for the repairs. How's Elizabeth? I hope you've been looking after her. Oh and uh, let her know she won't have to put up with you 'cause I'm returning, okay? Well, I'm almost out of money on my cell… Gotta go."

Holy shit! It was _real_!

Patrick stood in shock for a moment as the events of last night came flooding back to him. His brother's machine is gone, Elizabeth is gone, the house resembled a bombsite - yet Patrick couldn't quite figure out how that had happened. Hell, Vincent is _not _going to be happy

Patrick shrugged then opened the fridge and took out an empty milk carton. Glaring at the inconvenience, he gripped the carton in a vice-like fashion and made his way to the trashcan situated in the garage outside.

"Must've been one hell of a party," Patrick jokingly said to himself as he stepped over the corpse sleeping peacefully in the doorway. For some reason, he had no idea how the unwanted guest wound up lying on the front porch.

The garage door was locked, much to Patrick's amusement. Of course such a thing would only happen to him on days like this. Days where nothing seemed to make sense. He clutched the cardboard in his hand and dumped it thoughtlessly on the concrete. Vincent will clean it up, he thought. Right now he couldn't give a rat's arse in a pie warmer.

* * *

Her feet ached terribly. She felt as though she had walked a thousand miles through busy streets, quiet alleyways, urban avenues and parks to no avail. Surely, the sights and sounds of this beautiful city were amazing, but now wasn't the time for sightseeing. 

Elizabeth pondered. Perhaps she'd been looking in the wrong place. She should have at least come across Will or even Jack by now. There was no way Jack could have gone far, especially since he can barely walk in a straight line at times.

Elizabeth then thought of an idea. There must be at least one person who knows something in this fast moving, non-stop crowd.

"Excuse me!" Elizabeth called out to a random woman on the busy streets of New York. "I'm wondering if you have seen Will Turner? The blacksmith?"

"Get a life, lady!" the woman yelled out, not even bothering to stop.

How rude, Elizabeth thought to herself. People around here certainly need to learn a few manners. She most definitely wasn't in Port Royal anymore. It was all so strange. It was hopeless.

Elizabeth snapped out of it as a man casually went about his business. He didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry. It could be promising, she thought.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you know where I can find William Turner?"

"Is this a joke, miss--?"

"Miss Swann. And no of course not! Please, if you know anything…" Elizabeth couldn't deal with being ignored again.

The stranger raised an eyebrow. "You looking for Jack Sparrow too?" Just another whack-job in New York - no doubt about it, he thought.

"Yes, I am," Elizabeth replied. She couldn't believe her luck!

"Keep going straight. You'll see the place. Huge white building, big windows," the man said as he pointed further down the main street.

"Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me!" Elizabeth could barely stop herself from hugging the stranger. She will be with Will at last!

The stranger eyed her up and down. Her outfit was a disaster, he chuckled to himself. This was one crazy woman.

"Just a word of advice. Get some therapy," he added. And with that, the man continued on his merry way.

Elizabeth smiled. She didn't need Jack's help after all.

* * *

"Welcome to McDonalds. May I take your order?" screeched the drive-thru speaker. 

Bobby's arm hung out the car window casually as he leaned towards the red box. Before he managed to get a word in, Jack tapped him repeatedly on the shoulder. Short-tempered nerves could barely contain an outburst as Bobby reluctantly faced the source of irritation.

"'Tis rather invigorating that there _are_ in fact people fortunate enough to take orders from pirates," Jack said, trying to get across a very important point in his opinion. It was an argument Jack refused to lose.

"Shut up," Bobby spat as he brushed the pirate's hand away.

"Is there a problem, sir?" The aggravating speaker voice deserved a fist shoved into it.

"No problems here, pal. I'll grab a Big Mac Combo and uh… a Happy Meal," Bobby smirked at Carl over in the passenger seat.

"Is that the lot?"

"Pst, Bobby, what 'bout him?" Carl whispered.

Bobby glared at Jack, who had discovered the seatbelts and was consequently clicking and un-clicking the strange objects.

"Ye know, these irons are not good at all. One could easily escape," Jack informed.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "…Make that _two _Happy Meals."


	12. Road Trip Of Trouble

**Chapter Twelve - Road Trip Of Trouble**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**._

* * *

Burger wrappers, boxes, straws and other take-out related rubbish found its way to the floor of the car, intensifying the mess that was previously there. Unable to hold it in, Carl belched loudly and laughed hysterically. 

"Did ya hear that one, Bobby?" Carl managed to say between bouts of laughter, nudging the driver beside him.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Quit it, stupid."

"I woulda got in the _World Records_ with that one."

Carl rummaged through his Happy Meal and retrieved his kiddie-sized fries. Bobby couldn't help but chuckle at how pathetic he looked.

"Ya know, Bobster, this really does work," Carl commented.

"What?" Bobby's patience was wearing thin.

As if it was the most obvious answer, Carl replied, "The Happy Meal. It's makin' me happy."

Handfuls of fries were shoved unceremoniously into his mouth. Carl paused, a half-eaten chip in his grubby fingers as an odd thought occurred to him.

"I 'unno why Depp ain't eatin' it," Carl wondered.

"Yeah, well, tough. We ain't givin' him special treatment. If he thinks he's too _good _for the goddamn Happy Meal, that's his problem."

"Can I scoff his then?"

"Whatever, fat-ass," mumbled Bobby.

Like an eager kid on Christmas morning, Carl leaned over and reached for Jack's would-be lunch which sat untouched beside the pirate in the backseat.

"I think he's sick, Bobby," Carl added as he pulled the package of food into the front. Before Jack had a chance to protest, an unidentified flying object hit him squarely in the head, catching him by surprise.

"Oi!" Jack yelled, picking up the culprit from the leather seat where it landed.

"Thought you might like the toy," Carl said, his mouth full of hamburger.

Jack Sparrow eyed the small hand-painted figurine in his calloused hand, turning it upside down, left and right, peering at it from every possible way. He then glared at the plastic face, the beady eyes in particular. For some reason, those eyes unnerved Jack. It could only mean one thing - he needed rum.

"I'm not feeling very good about this," Jack said, not looking up from the object in his hand.

"About what?" Bobby sighed as he watched the pirate in the rear-view mirror.

"'Tis William Turner," Jack held up the little figurine. "…Regrettably not as I remember him."

"So you wanna sue McDonalds over a stupid little toy? No one gives a shit if it don't look like the real deal!" Bobby snapped.

Jack's brow furrowed. Ah, Sue McDonalds, eh? Where may she be? According to Jack, females appeared to be scarce in this mysterious location.

"What's up with him, Bob?" Carl whispered, before shoving another handful of salty fries into his mouth.

"Hell knows."

* * *

Bobby swerved the car dangerously down an off-ramp exit. They had been on the road for what seemed the longest two hours of his life; The car reeked, Carl and Depp pissed him off, and his conscience was getting the better of him. They had to flee the crime scene - and fast. 

There was no doubt the disappearance of the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ megastar was indeed a big deal. Bobby could almost see the headlines, the tabloids, the media frenzies. And at the peak of their criminal careers, Carl and Bobby's mug-shots would make it famously onto _America's Most Wanted_.

The car screeched to a halt outside the public toilets.

"What are we doin'?" asked Carl.

"Takin' a piss. Watch that idiot," Bobby instructed before disappearing into a cubicle.

The two men sat in silence while Bobby went about his business. Bored out of his wits, Jack attempted to start up some intelligent, theoretical, life-changing conversation.

"Ye wouldn't happen to have any rum, would ye?"

"Nope," Carl answered.

"Bugger." Well _that _was very un-conversational, Jack thought.

Suddenly a high-pitched continuous beeping sound shrilled throughout the car.

Jack covered his ears. "What in the bloody hell is that?"

"Bobby robbin' the urinal. I 'unno," Carl shrugged.

"That--"

Jack's sentence was cut off as the car began to shake violently. Carl clung to the edge of his seat waiting for the moment to pass while Jack enjoyed the ride. It was brief and stopped almost as soon as it had started. Trying to calm his nerves and failing, beads of sweat dripped down Carl's horrified face.

"I-I think that was an earthquake, y'know, shakin' the earth," Carl stammered.

"I doubt it. It's most likely cannon fire, mate," Jack said surely. He looked out the window and stared at his surroundings. No sign of smoke, fire, soot, gunmen - anything of the sort in fact. He then added, "Expertly hidden cannon fire at that."

* * *

Tinny speakers attempted to produce the sound of a random radio station with bad reception. The non-stop static crackled and hissed, cutting through the announcer's voice. It was completely pointless to listen to - and there were many more miles to go. 

Not standing it anymore, Bobby angrily reached for the dial, accidentally breaking it off from the cheap car stereo. Broken piece in his hand, Bobby threw the knob to the floor, making a slight thud as it landed beside the accelerator. Carl laughed, unable to control himself. Completely enraged, Bobby slammed his fist into the stereo, shutting it up once and for all. Two birds hit with one stone, he thought as Carl shut up too.

"I was listening to that, Bobby," Carl said sheepishly.

"You can't hear a goddamn thing!" Bobby yelled, "It was pissin' me the hell off!"

"I wanna know 'bout the shake on the news," explained Carl. He missed that stereo dearly.

"What shake?" Bobby asked, dumbfounded.

"The earth rumbled when you was doin' your business," Carl began, twiddling his thumbs.

"Ha ha, Carl. Funny," was Bobby's sarcastic reply. "Shut your stupid trap."

Jack rested his elbow on the back of Carl's seat in order to engage himself in the conversation. Being closer to the commotion could often lead to being involved in said commotion, Jack logically figured. He rapidly tapped Bobby's shoulder annoyingly, forcing the attention onto himself.

"Ye know, such a vibration did in fact occur, mate," Jack stated, still tapping.

Bobby shot an evil glare at the meddlesome tapping hand.

"You know what? I ain't putting up with your shit no more," said Bobby, about to retrieve the gun from the glove-box.

Carl protested, "But he's telling the truth."

"Yeah? Well, why'd he gotta shine the gayest lights through the window while I was takin' a piss, eh? I always knew he was likin' the rainbows."

"Horizons," corrected Jack, motioning his hand to the sky.

Taking a while to sink in, Carl's jaw finally dropped. "They got a disco ball in there, Bobby?"

"You're a dumb-ass, Carl."

Bobby glared expectedly at the pirate for some sort of explanation. Colourful swirling lights did not just randomly shine through windows, from yellow to orange, pink to purple and back again, basking you in a romantic ambience while you urinated in the public, scungy, men's toilets. How the hell did the pirate get a hold of Christmas lights?

Jack remained silent with a confused expression on his face. He knew for a fact he did no such thing. Sadly, he could even recall this whole sober day - no foggy patches in his memory whatsoever. Something desperately needed to be done about that.

There was a moment's pause before Jack answered. "There's no rum."

"So wha--"

_Clonk, clonk, clonk._

A knocking upon metal sounded throughout, seemingly coming from the trunk.

Without any warning, Bobby instantly slammed on the brakes and quickly got out of the car. Carl followed after Bobby, both men setting out to investigate the strange noises.

* * *

Jack peered out the back window. Bugger, he couldn't see anything. The open trunk bonnet blocking his view, Jack could only hope they wouldn't discover the stolen goods he'd managed to come by. 

"I cannot let you do this," said a familiar male voice from somewhere outside the vehicle. Jack listened intently.

"Bobby, we're in enough trouble already," Carl said nervously as Bobby cocked his gun.

"For Pete's sake!" Bobby yelled.

As if caught with his hand in a cookie jar, Jack quickly righted himself on the backseat hiding all evidence of eavesdropping. Luckily it went unnoticed as Bobby violently threw open the door and shoved in a second unwanted passenger at gunpoint. He muttered a few swear words under his breath before shutting them in.

"Jack? Am I glad to see you!" exclaimed Will, looking worse for wear. He rubbed at his arm which felt bruised as a result of Bobby's tight grip.

Jack grinned. "Ye know, I've been wondering when you might show up, lad."


	13. That Was Then, This Is Now

**Chapter Thirteen - That Was Then, This Is Now**

_**Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney**. _

* * *

Elizabeth Swann stared up at the oversized portrait of her dear Will heroically wielding a sword, the wind in his hair, foggy atmosphere surrounding him - yet something about this portrait seemed odd. Elizabeth then shifted her eyes to the left to find similar portraits of Jack, Barbossa, and herself. How is this possible? She couldn't recall sitting for these paintings at all. 

An adolescent male stood at the counter of the video store and discretely observed the woman making an extreme fashion statement.

"May I help you?" he asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

"Yes," Elizabeth replied as she made her way towards him. "I'd like to see Will Turner."

The youth altered his cap while thinking about this request for a moment. This woman was eerily familiar somehow but he couldn't place her.

"I'm told this is where I may find him," Elizabeth continued, pressing for an answer.

"You'll find _Pirates _over there in the New Release section," he pointed.

"Pirates?" Elizabeth didn't like the sound of that. "What are they doing there?"

"Um, new release, you know," he replied uncertainly.

"Oh."

Elizabeth had trouble understanding his choice of words. Had this young man released _pirates _from their cells?

"Which pirates have been released?" Elizabeth asked desperately.

"Uh… three. At World's End - the new one…"

"World's End?!"

The horrible feeling of dread washed over her as reality set in. She couldn't believe this! Three pirates sent to World's End? There was no doubt her Will was the new pirate in question - accompanied by two other swash-buckling companions who would most likely cause him harm. It was hopeless. There was no way she could sail solo all the way to World's End.

Oblivious to her surroundings, the tears welled up inside.

"Sheesh, are you alright?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I can't possibly do this alone."

"Invite your folks 'round. Make a night of it."

* * *

_Two Months Later..._

"Do you have a plan yet, Jack?" asked Will, as he stared up at the ceiling from the rickety bed of a cheap hotel room.

"No worries, mate. Good ol' Jack's got this covered."

"You said that last time. And the time before that. Oh, and not to mention the time before that--"

"Ye gotta trust me, mate. Have I not gotten you out of far worse predicaments than this?" Jack interrupted.

Will looked across at the unwanted guest sharing his bed. It couldn't get any worse.

"Not without putting me in them first," Will retorted under his breath, louder than he intended.

"Ah, fortunately I played no such part. Ye see, had _you_ not have been located precisely where said predicaments be taking place… then consequently, _my_ being there would not have affected _your_ situation of the problematic kind, now would it?"

Will Turner sighed. It was going to be a long night.

"So I suppose that means you don't have a plan, do you Jack?"

Jack frowned and thought for a moment.

* * *

Bobby downed the last of his beer, leaned back into the sofa and glued his eyes back to the TV screen. Reaching for another beer, he belched loudly, awakening the comatose Carl from the other side of the room. For under fifty bucks a night, Bobby decided this place was as good as it gets. 

"Bob, wha' time is it?" asked Carl as he wiped the slobber from the corners of his mouth.

"No-one cares," Bobby replied, lighting a fresh cigarette and crossing his legs casually on the coffee table.

"They bein' awfully quiet, y'know," commented Carl, breaking the silence.

"It's 3 am. They're sleepin', stupid." Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Can't we let them go? No one has to know we got anything to do with it."

"Damn, you really are stupid," Bobby started as he opened a new can. "Quit asking. If we let them go, they'll blab. End of story."

"But I do think taking both of them was a bit greedy, Bob. Can't we at least get rid of one?" Carl perched on the edge of his seat, a pleading expression pasted across his face.

"Hell no. We been harbouring celebrities for two months, dumb-ass. We ain't gettin' away with this."

Sheepishly, Carl added,"I 'unno. We might if we be nice to them--"

"_SHH_!!" Bobby snapped, feeling around for the remote.

Remote in hand, Bobby turned up the volume of the television and stared intently at what he saw before him. The 80th Annual Oscar Awards - supposedly _live_ on TV. Was that Depp sitting amongst the audience? Bobby shook his head. These things are never 'live' anyway, he thought… but hang on - wasn't the actual ceremony last week?… It's not possible…

"What the--" Bobby was flabbergasted.

Carl gazed at the TV. He was thinking along the same lines, yet on a completely different level. "Wow, Bobby, do ya reckon he coulda ran all the way to the Oscars and then come back in one night?"

Another eye-rolling moment for Bobby occurred.

"Don't you get it? If Depp's on TV, we ain't kidnapped Depp!"

"Oh." It took a moment to sink in. "So… _what_ did we lock in the guestroom then?"

"Good question."


End file.
